The Yasopp Diaries
by strawberryzoros
Summary: This is the story of the man who traded his family for the freedom to roam the seas. What goes on in his head? What makes him tick? And what does the Red Hair Pirates do when the cameras are off? Canon interpretations and crew bonding.
1. A Familiar Nose

**A/N: I love Yasopp. This is the result of my inexplicable desire to stay in his head for a bit.**

**As our knowledge of the Red Hair Pirates is limited and only five of them have been mentioned by name, I have taken the liberty of using my imagination to fill the gaps. What I have done is to take all Red Hair Pirates that appear in the manga/anime and simply given them names, personalities, and background stories. But do not fret - I am trying to stay true to canon as far as I can.**

**Oh, and I am aware that Shanks is called "Okashira" ("Boss") in canon, but I choose "Captain" in this story for the sake of consistency.**

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><p><strong>Part 1: Hey, I know that nose!<strong>

I wake up from my mid-day nap by Rockstar's incessant shouting. It's not the first time. That man really needs to learn how to calm it once in a while—then again he's always been like this. Maybe I should get used to it. Or threat to shove my musket down his throat. Wait, I already tried that. Didn't work. Damn it.

My hangover is a dull ache from Hell, though I doubt they have any level in Hell that could be described as 'dull'. I should ask Beckman about this, he knows more about Impel Down than me. I barely have time to finish that thought before the shouting starts again.

"Captain, where are you? Hey, Captain! Captain!"

This guy doesn't know when to quit.

I turn my head to the side, slowly as to not upset it more than necessary. Then I poke Shanks in the side with my foot. No reaction. No surprise there. While sleeping against a rock tends to make me all stiff and restless, it has no effect on Shanks. He still acts like it's a normal bed. I lift my leg and kick him in the back, hard enough to break a lesser man's spine.

He just grunts and turns towards me, face scrunched up from sleep.

"I'm up," he says, not convincing at all.

"Shut him up," I say, raising my hands to massage my temples.

"Who?"

"Rockstar is looking for you down the cliff."

As my captain finally gets up to restore the peace, I lean back towards the stone. It's anything but comfortable, but I'm not moving from this spot. It's nice and shaded and I can feel the breeze from the ocean filter in through the trees. Makes me wonder if the weather is anything like this in East Blue and, if it is, whether Usopp is playing by the shore today. Or is he too old for that already? I bet he is.

If I close my eyes, I can almost see him play like he did when I was still around to join in on—

"Oi, Yasopp! You need to see this!"

Great, now Captain is shouting too. I feel him stop right in front of me, rustling with something. I open my eyes and blearily look up at his excited face, and then the bunch of papers in his hand. The new wanted list?

**MONKEY D. LUFFY  
>B 300,000,000<strong>

I forget my headache.

"Look who's made it big!" I exclaim, sitting up and taking the papers from him. Luffy is keeping busy, it seems. That's no small bounty either. I point this out to Shanks as he sits down beside me, and he's looking at the poster looking like me—err, I mean, looking like a proud father.

"Enjoying himself like he should," he says. "Ahh, what a good day."

"What did he do?"

Shanks shrugs, leaning back. "Seems like a good part of his crew has made the list though."

I take a look at the rest of the bunch, browsing through the posters one by one. Pirate Hunter, Demon Child, Black Leg, Cat Burglar… the Marines sure had a field day with these names. I freeze as I get to the last page.

**SOGEKING  
>B 30,000,000<strong>

It's hers. Her nose. I'd recognize Banchina's nose anywhere.

_The King of Snipers_ … could this be? My heart is suddenly hammering in my chest. Of course he would inherit my sharpshooting skills. And pirate—why not? It's in his blood. I could be imagining things, but… black hair, just like her. My curls. Her nose. It all fits. If only he wasn't wearing that mask, I'd know without a doubt. But somehow I know that it's him—I can feel it. All the way through my bones.

"Anyone you know?" my captain asks, sounding so far away. My discovery is making the outside world seem far away, like I'm in my own little bubble that only holds me and my son. Him and the memories of him that I'm always keeping alive through my stories.

"That's Usopp," I finally manage to get out. To my surprise, I can feel tears start to burn in my eyes.

"Usopp? As in Usopp, your son?" Shanks leans over to get a closer look, and I can only nod.

My son is a pirate, a sniper just like me. He's thrown away whatever life he had to sail the seas as a criminal, and he has a hefty bounty to prove it.

I have never been so proud in my life.


	2. Bad Day

**A/N: "Monstar" is in fact the actual name of the monkey who appeared with the Red Hair Pirates at Luffy's village (manga only).**

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><p><strong>Part 2: Can I kill him, please?<strong>

Ridiculous. This is absolutely ridiculous.

I can shoot the antennae off of an ant from a hundred feet away—give me a bottle of sake and I'll still hit the rest of the ant after emptying it. Hell, I'll probably even be on target in my sleep if I ever were to try it. Everyone knows this. So why is it that I can't seem to catch one damn fly?

Admittedly I haven't bothered to open my eyes yet, but I can still hear it. It's buzzing around my ears, probably shitting in my hair or whatever it is flies do, and it's distracting. Why can't I hit it?

"Need a hand, Oh Mighty Sniper?" a familiar teasing voice asks from close by.

"Shut up, Sergi. I'll handle this." I know he's smirking at me without having to look. I can feel it mocking me as well as I feel the sunlight on my face and the palm tree behind my back. Knowing him, he's probably been watching me for a while now hoping for an opportunity like this. The bastard.

I attempt to smack the fly again but somehow don't hit it. I'm quickly learning that missing my target is one of the more frustrating things I have experienced. It's really not my thing.

"Are you _sure_?" Sergi asks again.

I pick up the closest object I can find beside me – a rock – and throw it at him, hard. Judging by his surprised groan, I was spot on.

"The heck was that for, man? I was just offering to help you!"

To that I actually open my eyes, just so I can roll them at him. Sergi pretends to look offended, but we both know it's just for show. It always becomes like this once we haven't been off the ship for a while and has to be stuck together on the ship. Red Force isn't small by any means, but with a crew like ours, any ship would feel crowded after a while. Bantering with crew mates is an as good way as any to pass time. Sergi likes to be annoying and I like to be annoyed, too, so it works.

Now he's actually nursing the spot where I hit him, straight on the nose. It's an oddly amusing sight. Lasso Sergi is usually a tough man, a force to be reckoned with—but once you land a hit, he more resembles a pouting kid who's lost a piece of candy. He completes the act as I watch, covering his face with his hands, his dirt-blonde pony tail bouncing in rhythm with his fake sobs.

Then there's a screech and a thud and the buzzing stops. I look down in disbelief.

"Oi, Monstar!" I scold the offending monkey, "that was my fly to smash!"

Monstar chews the fly slowly, staring at me with those wide monkey eyes of his, and then swallows loudly before giving off another little screech and bounding off to find his master. I fall back against the tree in defeat, wincing as I hit my head in the process.

Beaten by a fly, then a monkey, and now a tree.

Sergi sniggers. "Not your day today, mate."

Tell me something I don't know.


	3. Nightly Discussions

**A/N: "Roo" is Lucky Roo. Yasopp calls all his crew mates by their last names.**

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><p><strong>Part 3: Excuse me, may I borrow your IQ?<strong>

Unlike other large pirate crews, we don't really have the formal kind of grouping system like divisions to keep everyone on track. Shanks is our one and only leader—well, aside from Beckman, but he's the first mate so that doesn't really count. Instead, we have simply divided ourselves into teams depending on our weapons of choice. We use the teams to take turns with the chores, which is a surprisingly effective strategy. We also share sleeping quarters with those in our team, so we can take turns at keeping night watch as well as day watch every week without disturbing those not on watch duty. That's about the extent of our grouping system, but everyone honors it. Well, aside from the captain, who has a habit of falling asleep wherever on the ship he finds most convenient, but that's just the way he is.

Naturally, I'm on the shooter team together with Beckman, Roo, Doug, and about thirty others. Our sleeping quarters reek of everything from gunpowder and meat to smoke and animal spilling. Takes a while to get used to, but after seventeen years with a crew, you tend to start finding even the most unpleasant odors homey. Our team isn't on watch this week, so I'm actually getting sleep during normal hours at the moment. We are just settling in for the night, Beckman in his usual bed beneath mine, when I bring up something I've been meaning to ask him for a while.

"So I've been thinking—"

"Uh oh, bad sign," Roo interrupts, grinning wildly behind his stick of meat.

I flip him off.

"—how do you know so much about Impel Down?" I finish, watching him expectantly. Beckman flicks some ashes off the tip of his cigarette and looks up, meeting my curious gaze.

"It's no big mystery," he replies with a one-sided shrug. "Heard the stories from a drunken traveler who apparently heard it from Shiki himself. Figured it could be useful, so I paid attention."

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. "Shiki? As in 'Golden Lion' Shiki?"

"So he claimed."

Golden Lion Shiki, huh. The only man who has ever broken out of Impel Down. I suppose he'd be a trusty – not to mention the only – source of information. I've heard the story many times over the years: he cut off his own feet to escape the chains and made it out from the lowest level using swords as a substitute for his lost parts. That's a nasty mental picture if you ask me, but hey, I'm not one to judge. I suppose feet are more crucial for a pirate than arms, because Shanks sure doesn't suffer without one of his. Then again, he would probably kick ass without arms _or_ feet, knowing him.

"I'd say there are six levels," Beckman says, breaking me out of my thoughts. "'Six Levels of Hell' and all—the Marines wouldn't pass up an opportunity like that. Supposedly Level Six is the one where Shiki was kept, together with all the criminals they want to hide from the public."

"Why would they want to hide them, though?" I ask. "If they finally have managed to capture one or two of the worst 'scum' of our kind, why not boast and milk it for what it's worth?"

Beckman chews thoughtfully on the end of his cigarette. "Suppose that's the place where Roger was held before his execution. The most dangerous criminal they had. The only reason to keep his whereabouts hidden would be if they weren't sure that there wouldn't be rescue or break-out attempts. Which is why they kept him in Level Six, hidden from the eyes of the world."

This is why I truly enjoy having Beckman around. The guy is much too intelligent to stay with our lot of brainless muscle heads, but he does, and he allows me to pick his brain whenever I please. I always make sure to have a word with him before sleeping, discussing whatever I've been thinking about during the day. His quiet wisdom is that of an older brother or mentor I never had.

"Crimson Hell, Wild Beast Hell, Starvation Hell, Inferno Hell, Freezing Hell, Level Six, right?" I ask, ticking each level off with my fingers.

He nods in confirmation. "And Level Six is Eternal Hell," he adds.

"Really?" I make sure to commit them to memory, putting it in my mental 'Things To Tell Usopp' folder as I often do in hopes of future use. If I ever get to meet my son again, I want to be able to tell him all kinds of useful things. It's the least I can do.

Beckman and I exchange 'good nights', and as always, I'm asleep within minutes.


	4. Hangover Hunting

**A/N:** **I have made Yasopp into a Kenbunshoku Haki user because it makes sense. He is a very powerful New World pirate, _of course_ he uses Haki. I also think this is the kind of Haki that most would complement his sharpshooter skills.**

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><p><strong>Part 4: Me, a teacher?<strong>

At long last we're on land and I'm allowed to shoot real things again. Standing in front of my enemy with my musket raised is such a thrill—the blood is coursing through my veins, my heart rate slightly increasing with the rush of adrenaline. It's my personal testimony of freedom.

It's just too bad that my current enemy is a deer and that it really isn't any challenge at all.

We're all out of meat after the party last night, so we hunters took it upon ourselves to change that first thing in the morning. Can't have Roo go without his meat, after all—he might start chewing on the rookies instead. But if I'm to be really honest, the only reason I'm not nursing my hangover with the captain and the others right now is because I'm just too eager to shoot something again. Eager enough to be using my musket for small-fry rather than one of my guns.

The others separated from me right away as we entered the woods. I shrug that shit off because I know that I'm an intimidating bastard to be around, especially when hunting. We have a lot of rookies on the ship, and most of them have this ridiculous thing for us senior members. I wouldn't call it 'fear' per say, but they tend to stay away from us when they can. Could be an age thing, but I'm more onto the idea that Beckman scares the shit out of them all on their first day or something to keep them from bothering us. He can be really frightening when he wants to, that's for sure.

I'm just watching my fifteenth deer fall when I sense someone behind me. A closer feel tells me that it's a rookie, light, but with a kind of blue-ish tint to him. Yes, that voice could only be—

"—Nezumi," I finish out loud, not turning around.

The boy starts, as is to be expected when someone appears to have eyes in the back of their head. But with the daring attitude that I've come to expect from him, his voice doesn't falter when he responds. "How can you tell?" he asks, curious.

"The Great Yasopp always knows," I say mysteriously and glance back at him with a grin.

Nezumi is one of the newer recruits and has only been here for a couple of years, but he's one of the few that I have actually formed a relationship with. He's the kind of kid who is good at sticking his nose into things that aren't his business, and he stands out from the rest because of his stubbornness that is almost rivaling mine. Good with slings, too. Shanks picked him up from the slums at some spring island we were passing through, one of the few new members who joined alone.

I'm not going to lie here—he reminds me a lot of myself. I see things in him that makes him feel as though as he could be my own kid. He's about Usopp's age too, now that I think about it. He's a bit too cheerful for his own good though, and I don't always have the patience for that.

"I'm done here," I say, resting my musket back on my shoulder.

Nezumi walks up to stand beside me.

"Done?" he repeats, and I detect a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I tilt my head towards the mountains to the right. "Nah, but I need to get up the mountain to find some carnivores or Roo will have my head." I glance over at him. "Care to join me?"

We walk up the mountain in a silence that is only broken by birds or other too-small-to-be-useful animals. I can tell that Nezumi is distracted by something though, his dark bangs falling down in his eyes as he stares at the ground, lost in thought. I don't ask him about it, because I know that he'll tell me eventually if it's something he wants me to know. He just needs to work it out in his head first.

When we reach the top, the sight of the large cliffs makes me break the silence.

"Did I tell you about the one time when Usopp fell down a cliff?" I ask him, smiling fondly at the memory.

Nezumi looks up, interested. "He fell down a _cliff_?"

"He did. You see, my hometown is on an island that's surrounded by cliffs, which means there are only two openings to get into Syrup Village from the sea. Usopp used to spend a lot of time playing by those cliffs, and so…" I go on, telling him the story that I still remember so vividly in my head while he oohs and aahs in all the right places.

I'm starting to really enjoy myself when I sense an animal in between the trees a few hundred feet away from us. I stop abruptly with my story and raise my musket, taking aim and pulling the trigger so fluidly that it's basically done in one move. As expected, I hit my target spot-on.

"What did you—" Nezumi starts, but I'm already on the way to check out my kill.

Ah, it's a bear like I thought. Not a small one either. This is good, it'll last… well, at least longer than the deer. I take a seat on the ground, leaning my back towards the still-warm carcass.

"Kenbunshoku Haki," I say, and Nezumi looks down at me, puzzled. "'Color of all things'. The power to sense the presence of everything around you. If I'd want to, I could tell you exactly where all the other hunters are in this forest at this very moment. They all have different voices."

"_Really_?" Nezumi sits down too, like an eager child listening to the stories of his favorite uncle. Which, when I think about it, probably isn't all that far from the truth.

"Yes," I confirm. "I can also use it to predict their moves, to see them before they've actually moved."

The boy looks positively flabbergasted by this notion. "Can anyone…?"

"In theory. You'll need to awaken it first, but yes, anyone can do it. Even you. But even if you do, it can take a whole lifetime to master it—most users don't ever learn to completely master it."

Nezumi ponders this for a moment, and I let him. It's not often that I talk of my Haki, because I like people to believe that my sixth sense is all due to my sharpshooter skills. While I've always had a quite impeccable aim, it's because of my Haki that I'm able to excel at the long-range shooting. After all, if I can't see my target with my own eyes, how am I supposed to know where to aim? If I follow the sound only, how will I know that I'm not shooting the wrong person before they're already hit? Without Haki, without this knowledge, everything becomes a gamble from the moment you pull the trigger. And with the life I have lived and the crew I have, that's not a risk I'm willing to take.

I'm interested to know what this young man will make out of this power though.

"How do you awaken it?" he eventually asks, thinking in the direction I was hoping he'd do.

"Keep improving your skills and it'll come to you. It did for me."

He looks at me eagerly then, hope shining in his eyes. "Yasopp-san, will you help me?"

I scoff. "Me, help you? A little rookie who's barely old enough to drink?"

I stand up, making a show out of stretching my arms like I've been sitting so long that I've gone stiff, turning my back to the boy in an obviously dismissive gesture.

Then I glance down at him with a grin. "Why the hell not?"

His answering smile is blinding.


	5. Fuusha Village, pt 1

**A/N: This is based on chapter one of the manga, first and foremost. I think it's far superior to the anime version of the scene.**

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><p><strong>Part 5: No, Luffy, don't touch that!<strong>

**(10 years ago, Fuusha Village)**

"A toast!" Doug announces, holding up his cup. "To Luffy's courage and to our great voyage!"

We cheer, drink up, and refill our cups. Luffy is sitting at his usual place by Shanks, pouting because he thinks we're mocking him as usual. Which we are, but that's beside the point. His self-inflicted knife wound has finally stopped bleeding and is now covered with a band-aid. The kid must be really desperate for recognition if he's prepared to stab himself to 'prove his courage' to a bunch of pirates. Smart move, that. The only thing it's gained him so far is a scar that he'll never get rid of.

He's a good kid, Luffy, but he shouldn't be so quick to grow up. Stay a kid while he can, because he'll have the rest of his life to be a man. And once he is, he won't ever get to be that little boy again. But I gave up all my rights to parenting when I became a pirate, so I won't tell him that.

Kouhaku breaks me out of my thoughts by nudging me in the side.

"It was a great voyage, all right," he says, before continuing conspiratorially: "How much do you think we'll get for _that_?"

I grin at him, thinking of the little wooden chest we found that held unexpected treasure. "A hell of a lot, that's for sure. You'll get a fortune for those even in the New World."

"And to think we'd find one on a ship sailing in East Blue of all places. That's rare among the rare. That thing alone makes travelling all the way out here more than worth it."

My grin turns smug. "What can I say; I was born in the right ocean."

Kouhaku scoffs, but I don't care because I know I'm right. Poor thing grew up in South Blue, and while that's better than the jungle his lion mane of hair indicates that he should have been bred in, it's far from ideal. East Blue might have a reputation as the most peaceful ("peaceful" meaning pirate-free) of the four seas surrounding the Grand Line, and while that's true, some of history's most feared pirates were born here. The Pirate King, for example. Beckman. Me. Not to get ahead of myself or anything.

Suddenly the pub doors slam open, revealing a bunch of… what's the word again?

"Make way for the mountain bandits!" they hoot, loudly.

Oh—losers. That's the one I was looking for.

"So you're the pirates in town, eh?" the one who seems to be the leader says, looking around the room with a face like he's swallowed something sour. "You look like a sorry lot."

Cue the following cheers and insults flying from his underlings. I turn back to my sake, having already deemed them unworthy of my time. Can't a man be allowed to get drunk in peace around here?

I don't care to follow the resounding conversation between the idiot and the barista, but I look up when there's a sudden crash of glass breaking. Shanks is on the floor, attempting to clean up the mess made by what I assume must be a broken bottle of sake.

"Look at this!" the bandit yells, way too loudly. He holds up a piece of paper in front of Shanks, shaking it at him. "I'm the feared Hiruma the Bear! My head's worth 8,000,000 Beli!"

Yeah, because the threat of an 8,000,000 Beli bounty makes my knees shake with fear. Always. It just happens to be exactly my bounty… if divided with fifty. And you'll have to go way beyond that to reach Beckman's. As for Shanks'… well, this guy is a hundred years too early to even be compared to him.

We all know this, and the captain knows it most of all, but he just continues cleaning up. I swear he's the humblest person I've ever met. I see nothing wrong with a bit of telling the truth once you're good enough to deserve it – I do quite a lot of it myself – but he wouldn't do that. It's like it's not even on his radar. But that's something I've grown to respect about him, too.

The bandit leader isn't done yet. "I've killed 56 people… mostly fools like you."

That almost makes me snort with laughter. Is he for real? I meet Sergi's eyes across the table, and he raises his eyebrows incredulously in return. I can tell he's not far from laughing either.

The Hiruma guy continues to spout various threats at Shanks for a while, who isn't paying him any attention at all. Idiot as he is, the bandit gets even more frustrated by this—more eager to show off his frightening 'powers'. Shanks is about the only one who has the patience to put up this kind of act, and he pulls it off with bravura. I pour myself another cup of sake, thoroughly entertained by this turn of events. Now the only question is how long it'll take before the bandit explodes again.

It's only minutes later when the bandit draws his sword and pulls down the food from the bar counter, causing Shanks to fall back on his ass. I cover up my snigger with a cough. Then the idiot bandit turns to leave with another spewing of 'poisonous remarks', complete with a dramatic sweep of his coat.

As soon as they're gone, the barista rushes to my captain's aid, asking him if he's all right. Shanks assures her that he is (how could he_ not_ be?), and lets out one last dramatic breath of 'relief'.

That does it for me, and I can't hold it anymore. I fall over laughing, pounding the table with my hand with the force of my laughter, Kouhaku chortling beside me and Sergi nearly falling off his chair.

"He sure got you good, Captain!" Roo wheezes through his bouts of laughter, and Randy catcalls.

And then Shanks is beside himself laughing as well, head falling back and hand slapping at his knee.

"YOU THINK IT'S _FUNNY_?"

The cheerful mood effectively dies down with Luffy's shout, which holds all the rage and frustration of a seven year old boy. Shanks appears to be taken entirely off guard by this.

"Huh?" is his only response.

Luffy is really angry now. "He made you look like a weakling! Why didn't you fight him?" Then he goes off on a rant about how they sure 'outnumbered us' and 'looked pretty tough', but that a real man wouldn't let himself be treated like that and then laugh about it.

"You're a disgrace to all pirates!" he finishes, sounding close to hysterics by now.

To his credit, Shanks manages to look appropriately puzzled at this.

I lean back in my chair, wiping the tears of laughter from the corners of my eyes. Perspective is an interesting thing. Something that is so glaringly obvious to me – to all of us – is apparently impossible to comprehend for little Luffy. 'Fight him'? That would have made Shanks look like an even bigger idiot than the one who appeared, spewed out some bullshit, spilled some food, and left. If you bother with people like that, you will only end up feeling worse. Isn't that common sense?

Putting it simply—anyone who would bother to beat up useless trash, I wouldn't call my captain.

"Maybe you'll understand when you grow up, kid," Shanks says with the diplomacy of a saint.

Luffy doesn't seem to appreciate the comment as much and starts to stomp away. Shanks grabs his arm to hold him back, but Luffy keeps going, and that's when his arm stretches. And stretches.

What? No, he didn't… he couldn't have…

"It's not here!" Roo exclaims, waving the empty chest for us to see. "The Gomu Gomu Fruit is gone!"

"Luffy! You didn't eat the fruit that was in there, did you?"

The boy looks taken aback. "Yeah, well, I had it for dessert… it wasn't very good though…"

"That was a Devil's Fruit!" Shanks shouts, flailing his arms. "If you eat it, your body becomes like rubber and you'll never be able to swim for the rest of your life!"

At this, Luffy proceeds to freak out with the rest of us. While some of my crew mates mostly are upset by the sudden loss of the fortune we'd get for selling the fruit, I find myself mourning for the boy. A cruel twist of fate, that's what it is. The kid hasn't shut up about wanting to learn how to swim for the whole year we've been using this village as our base, and now that dream will never be achieved.

But while I agree that the situation is most unfortunate, I don't share Shanks' worry that Luffy won't be able to become a pirate because of this. The truth is that many pirates are Devil's Fruit users these days, and it's actually aiding them rather than complicating things for the most part. Our crew is actually rather unique of its kind, as we're one of the few who don't have any Fruit users at all right now. We don't need it either, and it's quite handy to not have to be afraid of people drowning.

I'll make sure to talk to Luffy about this later, to raise his spirits a little bit.

For now, though, I'm content to just drink another cup of sake.


	6. The Marineford Showdown

**A/N: Heavy spoiler warnings for episode 482 to 489. Skip this if you haven't watched those.**

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><p><strong>Part 6: He did NOT just say that!<strong>

There's no limit to how much respect I have for my captain. That goes without saying. I trust his judgment above anyone else's, and I'll follow him anywhere as long as I'm alive to do so.

That doesn't mean that I don't wonder what the hell is going on in his head sometimes.

Like today. It's only been a couple of days since we went to confront that asshole Kaidou about his dirty scheming, and while that was risky enough, this move is even more so. We're charging straight into the battlefield at Marineford to stop the war between Whitebeard's crew and the very top of Marine HQ. Yes, my captain is the best bet when it comes to who'd be able to pull this off, and we'll all have his back regardless of what happens, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy.

But it's a fact that he decided on this as soon as he got wind of Kaidou's plans. We were already prepared to leave for Marineford to end something that hadn't even started yet. Shanks' intuition has a tendency to be frighteningly spot-on when it counts. I still don't know how he just _knew_.

Ever since it started, we've been keeping up to date through the official broadcasts. Rockstar and his group of rookies stayed behind at one of the screenings, and they've been keeping steady Den Den Mushi communication with us ever since. We hear about everything that comes on there.

So far old man Whitebeard has died, which is a shock in itself because he's always been around—I remember hearing stories about him even as a kid. Then Luffy's been all over the place, hanging out with various Shichibukai and the top commanders of Whitebeard's crew. Man, has he come far since the last time we saw him. I've specifically asked if Usopp is there, but it seems that Luffy's there without his crew. I can't imagine why that would be, but there's probably a good reason for it.

"Admiral Akainu just landed a hit on Fire Fist, who was protecting Straw Hat," Rockstar's voice reports through the Den Den Mushi before going silent. A gulp. "I… think he's dying. Yes, he definitely is."

I glance over at Shanks, but he's busy staring off into something only he can see. His knuckles are clenched white on his knee—the only sign that he's listening to what Rockstar says.

Rockstar's voice suddenly grows thick, the Den Den Mushi getting teary-eyed on his behalf. "He just sunk down over Straw Hat. He… he died in his brother's arms. This is fucking heart-breaking!"

Shanks releases the hold on his fist and then clenches it again. He abruptly stands up.

"I need some air," he says, and leaves to get out on deck.

I exchange a look with Beckman, silently asking if he or I should follow. He gives it a moment of thought before deciding that he'll go, so I sit back and pay attention to the Den Den Mushi again.

We better get there fast.

-o-

The sounds of cannons firing, swords clashing, and voices disappearing can be heard from the battlefield, and we're preparing to get off the ship. As soon as we got into the bay, Shanks and Beckman both left in a flash, setting off to do who-knows-what. Roo left almost immediately after with hopes of getting a glimpse of Luffy. The plan is that we'll follow them shortly, 'we' being the remaining top members of our crew—me, Sergi, Randy, Kouhaku, Toma, Pierce, Lambor, and Doug. We're not normally this selective about who's going, but today we're all bounty heads here to intimidate. The rest of the crew will stay on board unless things go to hell, err, I mean, don't go well.

"Think he'll pull it off?" Randy asks me as we start getting off the ship.

"If luck is on our side." And luck better not have left us yet.

We catch up with our captain on the field and gather behind him, offering him our silent support. Roo and Beckman join us a moment later, and we all follow Shanks as he walks towards the place where most people are gathered, too surprised by our sudden appearance to move.

"If you keep on fighting, both sides will suffer more pointless casualties." Shanks' voice is full of the stunning kind of authority that only he has. "If anybody still wants to fight…"

He stops, and we stop right with him. I cross my arms over my chest as Shanks draws his sword.

"… then come! We will be your opponents!"

The Marine soldiers look suitably freaked out by this suggestion, but the group of pirates right in front of us look remarkably unmoved by our collective threat. A fact that doesn't slip by Shanks.

"What do you say, Teach?" he says, then corrects himself. "No… Blackbeard!"

Ah, yes, the Blackbeard Pirates that now can add 'killed a Yonkou' to their merit list. How nice.

I look them over, and my attention is drawn to the gangly man with the crosshair glasses and something resembling either an upturned boat's hull or old man Whitebeard's mustache on his head. It's him – the man whose sharpshooting skills supposedly are superior to everyone's but my own.

Van Augur, 'The Supersonic'… I wonder how good he is.

More importantly, there's his famous rifle, the Senriku. I'd absolutely _love_ to take a closer look at that one. Figure out all of its little tricks and quirks. I'll admit that while I'm a damn good long-range shooter as it is, even I could increase my range further with a weapon like _that_.

Such a shame that its magnificence had to go to that crew.

Blackbeard laughs, loud and boisterous.

"You're looking more handsome than ever, Red Hair. It suits you… that scar."

He did _not_ just say that!

I impulsively grab at my musket, which Van Augur misinterprets for me asking for a fight because he puts a hand on his rifle as well. I lift my musket into position, pretending to take aim at him. He does the same. I raise my eyebrows incredulously. _You want a go, punk? Try me._

But Blackbeard ruins my fun. "Let's quit now," he says. "It's still too soon for me to fight you."

The first intelligent thing he's ever said. I lower my weapon, flashing a grin at Van Augur.

"Let's go, men!" And with that, Blackbeard and his crew turn to leave with him laughing all the way.

Shanks resheats his sword and takes a step forward. His speech is short and to the point as he asks the Marines to let us take care of Whitebeard and Fire Fist's bodies. He's being reasonable and way too respectful, making a hell of a lot of sense with his request, and yet there are immediate protests from some stuck-up idiots that only care about their own pride and glory.

I don't know Fire Fist, only met him once in my life, but he's Luffy's brother and the son of my captain's old captain, and I'll be damned if I'll let them have his – or his captain's – head on display for their own gain. Luckily I don't have to resort violence, because Fleet Admiral Sengoku gives in.

"I'm fine with entrusting them to you, Red Hair," he says to my captain. "I'll take the blame."

"Sorry about this," Shanks replies in all sincerity.

Good to see there's finally someone who treats my leader with proper respect.

Things wrap up quickly after that. Shanks stays behind to take care of the bodies with the Whitebeard crew, and Beckman stays with him for moral support because that's just what he does. I take the front as the rest of our group heads back to the Red Force, where we'll prepare to leave.

It's barely an hour later when we take off, heading back into the New World, mission accomplished.


	7. Aftermath

**A/N: Same spoiler warnings apply as in the previous chapter.**

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><p><strong><strong>**PART 7: Wait, he's your brother?**

It's been a few days since Marineford, and Toma has been acting strange ever since. The guy is a real goofball normally, but lately his mood has been off. We've all noticed. Not even Monstar has been getting his usual attention, which has resulted into the monkey going ballistic on the rest of us, occasionally shrieking us awake at night and even more than usual during the day. Something is bothering Toma, but he isn't giving anyone a chance to confront him about it. In fact, he's been practically hiding from the rest of us ever since we stopped on this island.

But I'm an excellent tracker, so I'll be damned if I can't track down one distraught crew mate. I find him under some trees by the shoreline, Monstar strangely missing from his presence. His trademark dark circles beneath his eyes look somehow deeper than usual, and he appears to be… brooding. The whole thing feels out of place. Toma's a large man with the hardened look of anyone who's been out to sea for as long as we have, but he's always been one of the more light-hearted people on the crew. Seeing him like this – displaying this uncharacteristic emotion – is unsettling to say the least.

I scrap my original plan of just telling him to stop being moping and come to join the rest of us for the night's party. Instead, I plop down on the ground beside him, crossing my legs.

"Want to talk about it?" I ask, because beating around the bush is pointless here.

Toma glances up at me, perhaps surprised that I'm asking, perhaps surprised that I'm here. He shouldn't be though, because he knows me, and there isn't much that escapes my notice.

He doesn't reply, but looks back down at his hands. He's holding an unfamiliar piece of fabric, scarlet with a dark line through it. When he suddenly speaks, his voice is like gravel.

"You know 'Bohemian Knight' Doma?" he asks, taking me off-guard.

I scramble my mind for the answer. "Wasn't he at Marineford? What about him?"

"He's my brother."

Oh. _Oh_.

Toma still isn't looking at me when he continues: "My older brother. We were orphans, always together growing up. It was just the two of us left, you know? People said it was like we were glued to each other. Always practicing the sword, and…" he trails off, clutching the red fabric tighter. "He's got a monkey, too. Wonstar. Monstar and Wonstar, see? They're twins."

I don't say anything, not wanting to break him out of whatever spell that finally has made him talk.

"We always wanted to be pirates, ever since we were kids. We planned to form a crew together…"

I think I'm starting to see where this is heading.

"… I don't know what happened, but one day, everything changed. He just left, without telling me anything. Without saying goodbye. I heard it from a woman in the neighborhood who had seen him set off to sea. A while later, word spread about how he had his own crew and was sailing towards the New World. I still haven't heard a word from him. Not since that day."

Toma reaches up to scratch the skin of his bald head as he goes on. "I joined this crew, formed a life for myself. Haven't regretted it once. But what do you know—suddenly my brother is just _there_, right in front of me, shedding tears among the rest of Whitebeard's crew like it's the most natural thing."

He hides his face in free hand, voice turning bitter. "Was it just me, then? After he left, I figured that he wanted his own crew, to not have to answer to anyone. He didn't know how to tell me, so he didn't. But now I find out that he's with _Whitebeard_! It makes no sense."

I hesitate a moment before speaking up. "I remember Beckman mentioning him as one of the pirate captains that surrendered to Whitebeard after getting defeated by Fire Fist Ace."

At that, Toma finally turns to meet my eyes. "So he's just one of Whitebeard's allies?"

I nod, and he lets out a deep sigh. Then he smiles, actually smiles for a moment.

"That's that, then," he says, shaking his head to himself. "No use to hold a grudge over a dead man's deeds—may his soul rest in peace. I'll just go back to believing what I've done until now then."

Wait, he's already over it? "That's it?"

"Yes," he says, and he appears to be completely serious. He stands up, pocketing the red fabric. "Let's go back to the others. Monstar's angry with me for not letting him reunite with _his_ brother, so I've been giving him some space. I should probably fix that."

I chuckle, getting up as well. "Yes, I've noticed his mood. He's been pestering me for days."

He grins, pounding me in the back. "Bet you deserved it anyway, you sneaky bastard." Then he abruptly turns sincere. "Thanks, Yasopp. For coming to get me."

"No problem," I say, shrugging. "It's what I do."

We walk back to the others, the casual mood returned and things in order again.


	8. Dinner Talks

**A/N: I have made a character chart for this fic- check the link on my profile!**

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><p><strong>PART 8: Damn those Fruit users!<strong>

"Someone fetch me the salt!"

"Where's the meat fork?"

"MAMMY, I WANT SECONDS!"

Mammy, our Head Chief, is the oldest of the crew. She was old even when we found her, but no one knows her exact age. It's common knowledge that anyone who dares to ask will be thrown in her stew, so we just don't. Still has the vitality of someone much younger though, that woman.

Hearing her name being called, she sticks her head into the dining hall. "Who called?" she asks suspiciously, her gray hair standing on end like it has a life on its own. I think it does.

Slamming Dunk waves from his corner, getting her attention. She eyes his scruffy, soy-streaked face with distaste and lets out a sound resembling the one when the air goes out of a balloon.

"That's the sound of how much I care, kiddo," she replies, turning back to the kitchen.

Yeah, that's our cook. She doesn't even pretend to be nice anymore.

As always, dinner time with the Red Hair Pirates is a big deal. Not merely because of our numbers—we also happen consist of gluttonous bastards without table manners. Well, for the most part. I include myself in that category even if I'm not nearly as bad as people like some of us (read: Roo and Bardou). The fact that I'm actually reflecting over it shows that I'm not too far gone. Yet.

We eat a lot and keep going for hours. When we party, which we do whenever we can find an excuse (and sometimes when we don't), we don't stop eating until we pass out. It's a good thing there are a lot of sea kings and other monsters around, or else we wouldn't do anything other than hunt.

I'm about to dig in on my third helping of roasted sea tiger when I notice how quiet my tablemates have become. I glance around, surprised at the serious looks on their faces.

"Those darned Devil's Fruit users," Seamo finally mutters, peaking my interest.

"What now?" I ask, and he looks over at me.

"Just talking about how they're such a pain, all of them. Thinking of that Blackbeard and his Yami Yami one especially. It's not just a Logia, but it's even nullifies the powers of other Fruits. How do you even begin to counter that?"

I recall what Shanks once said, 'Don't judge a man by his fruit—or lack thereof'. I have taken those words to heart. He and I both agree that Devil's Fruit users are nothing with their ability alone—those fruits have the_ potential_ to be really powerful, but only if they're mastered with skill. If the user is a skilled combatant outside of his Fruit, then, and only then, he might become a real threat.

As a projectile user, I shouldn't be able to do anything at all to a Fruit user of the Logia type, and barely scratch the smirk off the faces of the Paramecia types. For many years this was fine, as I was able to focus on the non-Fruit users while leaving the rest to someone else. But as soon as Shanks was recognized as one of the strongest pirates of the sea, that wasn't enough anymore. Not acceptable to me, because nothing hurts one's pride more than being unable to fight an enemy.

The solution was the Busoshoku Haki, which I've now mastered enough to use in battle. I'm not nearly as good with it as I am with my Kenbunshoku, but that's to be expected. I fuse my bullets with a tiny amount of it, barely even noticeable, and it improves my chances of wounding my target. I need to be fairly close though, or I can't hold it. But as long as my enemy doesn't know that part, it's fine.

What to do about the Yami Yami powers though? The power to make everything disappear?

"It has to have a weakness," I finally say. "How about Kairoseki bullets?"

"That's a good one!" Long Geass exclaims. "Why hasn't anyone invented_ that_ yet?"

"Seems like the famous Dr. Vegapunk has been slacking for once," Doug says, not without spite.

"Too busy with upgrading the Pacifistas?" Tazu suggests.

"I hope he overworks himself. Serves him right."

"The real question is—would the Kairoseki bullets even work?" I interject in an attempt to get us back on track. "Better to ask someone who knows these things. Hey, Randy!"

Randy is a bit further down the table, but he turns our way at the sound of my voice. I wave him over, and he comes to sit down by me and my pretty much abandoned sea tiger. He's wearing his usual hat with our mark on it, never one to care for proper manners at the dinner table, and his long white-blonde hair forms two piles on the red tablecloth. After a quick look around to make sure that there are only well-known faces around, he let his sunglasses slide down to rest on the tip of his nose. His eyes are always startling, not only because they're red, but they're piercing right through me.

I'm glad that he trusts us enough to drop his sunglasses for a while though—I don't know the details, but from the little that Sergi has told me, Randy was abandoned by his parents as a kid because of his pale skin and those eyes. I think there's more to it, but Sergi is very protective about him, and if they won't tell, I won't ask. In either case, they both joined the crew together years before me, so I don't more than I've been told. Which isn't much at all, but still more than most of the crew does.

Randy looks at me imploringly, and I realize that I've been spacing out for a moment too long.

"Assuming that Kairoseki bullets would exist, do you think they'd work on Blackbeard?" I say to his unasked question, straight to the point because I know he'll want to skip the details.

He frowns, a small wrinkle forming on the visible part of his forehead. "Well, considering how all Devil's Fruit powers should be rendered useless by Kairoseki, anything else would defy logic…"

"You mean dual Devil's Fruits don't already defy that logic?" I interrupt.

Randy fists a handful of my dreads and pulls. "_Shut uuup!_ Or I'll go back to my seat right now."

"Sorry." I grin at him, not sorry at all. He lets go with a smack to my head and continues.

"His Fruit would simply swallow an ordinary bullet. If it's one out of Kairoseki, it would probably hit. Not that a few bullets would be enough for a man like him, but…" He crosses his arms over his chest, thinking. I take this opportunity to get a bite of my now lukewarm food. Still delicious.

"Haki-infused bullets would probably hit, too," Randy points out with a side-glance at me. "Your best shot would probably be a Haki-Kairoseki combination, preferably fired in rapid succession."

I could easily pull that off, if only we had the bullets. This is why Randy is our weapons expert; no one knows more about shooting weapons than him. Interestingly, he isn't much of a shooter himself—no, he prefers to use swords. But his knowledge and advice are invaluable to us, especially to me.

Our Devil's Fruit discussion ebbs out soon after that, the others going over to other topics. But Randy and I keep at it, going into the more technical aspects of a hypothetical Haki-Kairoseki combination, and discussing the pros and cons of the selection in our artillery. In the end, this dinner drags out just as long as it usually does, and Mammy will scold us all for it. Again.

It's just another day with the Red Hair Pirates, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

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><p><strong>So, any theories on the things the boys are discussing in this chapter? Do share!<strong>


	9. Meeting Shanks

**A/N: Set during Strong World: episode 0, which I consider canon as it is written by Oda. **

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><p><strong>PART 9: Meeting Shanks<strong>

**(22 years ago, Gecko Island)**

It's another sunny day, quiet save for the birds chirping and the kids of the neighbor house occasionally screaming their lungs out. Now, as the day is transcending into the afternoon, I sit by the trees on the cliff and listen to the silence of the nature around me.

It's too quiet. Too nice. Too peaceful.

Why didn't I bring one of my guns? I'm already growing restless. I should shoot something; break the silent nothingness that is on the verge of driving me mad. Given me a moment of action—a thrill.

I've always been like this, for as long as I can remember. Restless even as a kid. I was always running around, getting in everyone's way and generally causing a ruckus. Even more so than other children my age, I wanted attention—_demanded_ it from my surroundings. My mother used to tell me countless stories that all ended with me getting grounded or otherwise punished for breaking things, fighting with the other kids, or ripping my clothes while playing in the woods. It seemed that I never learned from my mistakes, or at least not enough for it to stop me from doing them again.

My favorite game was with the stones. I spent a lot of time in the forest around my village, trying a lot of things to occupy my days with. I soon found out that I liked the stone throwing best. I'd gather a pile of stones of different sizes, and try to hit things with them. My targets were everything from tree trunks to flowers to other stones—the bigger the challenge was, the more fun I found it. Sometimes I climbed trees and tried hitting the leaves, and when that became too easy, I tried to hit as many I could at once. It was a wonderful feeling, playing in a tree far higher up than everyone else, so high that I was able to see all the way to the sea from there. It made me feel invincible.

Of course I was scolded for it whenever I was found out, but that never stopped me.

My strongest memory is of the day when I first shot with a gun. I was eight, and I 'borrowed' my father's old flintlock pistol – which was practically antique, and never used as far as I knew – and took it out to the woods, as far from the village as I could get. I was trembling with excitement, my hands shaking so bad that I could barely keep from dropping the thing, because it was something that I had always wanted to do. No more stones; I wanted to shoot for real, with a real weapon, like a real man!

I hadn't had any idea what I was getting myself into, and when I had finally managed to load the thing, I hadn't been sure what to do. Aiming at a stone was dangerous, it could ricochet, but a tree would be anticlimactic. Should I try to shoot an animal? Was it too soon?

When I finally decided to use a tree just for starters, to get a first feel for it, I hadn't expected that the trigger would be so heavy to pull. I definitely hadn't been prepared for the heavy kickback and the loudness of the shot that would keep ringing in my ears for hours to come. But I hit my target.

That's how it began. My father never got that gun back. I don't think he even noticed it was gone.

As I grew older, old enough to get my own shooting weapon, I finally 'came out' with my hobby, the one that occupied the majority of my time, through a contest on a neighbor island. It took everyone I knew by great surprise, but that is a story for another time. The point is that it got my name out.

From that point on, I wasn't Yasopp the rascal boy—I was Yasopp the Shooter.

And right now Yasopp the Shooter can't shoot at all because he left all his weapons at home, which has resulted in him being bored enough that he's now talking about himself in third person.

Ridiculous.

Then there's something by the horizon; the silhouette of a ship blocking part of the endless blue.

"What's that?" I muse out loud. "A traveler's ship? That's a rare sight."

'Rare' is probably an understatement. We basically never see any ships on this part of the island aside from the occasional travelling merchant. They all go to the larger villages on the neighbor islands instead. But this one is definitely a ship, unless my boredom is making me hallucinate, and as the water level is too low here, a little boat is all that is sailing further this way.

I'm much too curious to move, even if I'd want to, which I don't. There's only one person on the boat; a man with hair so fiercely red that I can see it all the way from where I sit. It's covered by a straw hat that is almost as eye-catching as his hair, and has a red ribbon woven through it to match.

He stops only a small distance away from me and my cliff, halting the boat with his single oar. I can see his face clearly now—he's much younger than I initially thought, at least a few years younger than me. There's something about him, something that makes him stand apart from everyone on this island. Something I haven't seen in another person before. I don't know how to explain it, but it's… him. His shoulders are simultaneously light and heavy, and his whole posture radiates strength and confidence. He has the eyes of a man who has a determination, a dream that is about to be fulfilled. It sounds cheesy, but it's like he's… _breathing_ freedom. I didn't even think was possible.

Then he speaks, and what comes out of his mouth baffles me even more.

"I heard rumors of a man named Yasopp."

A mere "huh?" is all I manage to get out in return, because that's about the last thing I expected. He's asking for _me_? I can see from the way he's looking at me that he knows he's got the right person, too.

"I'm Shanks. A pirate," he says, lifting his straw hat in a small courtesy greeting.

A pirate, eh? That's nostalgic. It makes me think of all the errant thoughts I've had during my childhood, ideas of perhaps boarding a pirate ship one day. I mean, what little boy doesn't dream about adventures? Those ideas disappeared with age, though, and never turned into anything.

"And what does a pirate want with me?" I ask, finally finding my voice.

He smiles at me, genuine and bright. "I heard you're a shooter. Any good?"

"Damn good." Modesty has never been my area.

His smile grows even bigger at my answer. "And how do you plan to use that skill?"

I raise my eyebrows at that. I'm not sure what he wants with that question. How do I plan on using my sharpshooting skill? For my own entertainment, I guess. To win a contest here and there, bring some money to the household. To impress Banchina's father enough that he'll let me have her hand in marriage, that stubborn old geezer. Is there anything else I can do with it?

So I ask him: "How do you _suggest_ that I use it?"

His reply is instant: "Join my crew."

And there it is. If it was physically possible, my jaw would probably have hit the floor. He wants me to _join his crew_? Pick up my things, leave my home and everyone I know, and become a_ pirate_? Could I even do that? My mind is reeling at the thought. It's impossible, irresponsible—everything I've been raised not to do. I don't even know how to react to this. A pirate life hasn't even been on my radar for the future. But somewhere deep inside me, a tiny spark of hope is lit. A little thing that says that perhaps this is what I've been looking for, what I need in my life. But it's small, too small right now. So I tell this pirate, Shanks, the only thing I can say at this point.

"Give me a few years," I say, silently asking him to see where I'm coming from. Because I need time—I can't decide this over night. I need to figure things out for myself first. I can't decide this now.

And he gets it. "Done," is all he says, and a feeling of calm relief spreads through my body. I give him a bit of an apologetic grin, which he answers with another of those broad smiles of his.

"See you, Yasopp," he says in farewell and waves with his straw hat as he paddles away.

"See you," I echo, just loud enough for him to hear.

I look after the ship long after it has disappeared beyond the horizon.


	10. Surprise Attack

**A/N: Tomorrow is the two month anniversary for this story. Where did time go?**

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><p><strong>PART 10: Surprise Attack<strong>

"_Going to deliver Binks' Sake! We are pirates sailing through the Sea!_"

"_The waves are our pillows, the ship our roost! Flying the proud skull on our flags and our sails!_"

We toast and drink up, singing along to our heart's content. A group with Rockstar in the lead is dancing on the table, while Bardou and a few others occupy the area around the piano, accompanying us with music. This is everyone's favorite song, so everyone gives it their best.

As they go over to less familiar tunes, I grab two bottles of sake and walk over to join Shanks where he's sitting. He looks far too sober, so I figure that he probably needs it.

"Thanks," he says, accepting the bottle. "Mine's just about to run out."

"What's up?" I ask, as he seems distracted. He nods to what's in front of him. I follow his gaze and see Figarou a few tables away, our newest recruit who has only been here for a couple of weeks. He's sitting by himself, watching the Rockstar and the others fool around.

"Do you think it was too early for him?" Shanks wonders.

I ponder that. His circumstances are rare but not unique; he's the last remaining survivor of his old crew. While he's still young, he's already been through the worst thing you can experience as a pirate. He was eager to join us, perhaps afraid of being alone, but he's been quiet and keeping to himself ever since. Probably mourning his friends, I'd say. Should we have let him recover before joining?

"He'll come around," I say. "Just wait and see. Have you talked to him?"

"Not in the last few days." Shanks pops his bottle open and takes a pull from it. This is bothering him more than I thought. Then again, I suppose that if someone should worry, it's the captain. He looks over at me, eyeing me speculatively. "Could you…?"

I knew it'd come to this eventually.

"Hnn," I reply eloquently, shrugging. Shanks smiles, knowing that this means that I'll most surely do it as soon as I get the opportunity. And I will, because I can't help but lend a hand when there's a way to lighten his burden like this. Besides, I feel for the kid too. I know how it feels to lose the people dearest to you and then go off to sea with strangers, even if I left them by my own choice while he had them forcibly taken away from him. It's still painful to know that you'll never see them again, and that pain I can understand very well. But that's tough shit that I'd rather not tell to a stranger…

It happens suddenly and almost without warning. It's only because of the experience that I've earned through my twenty years of fighting that I notice before it comes. I see the path of the bullet and dodge just before it sweeps clean by the spot where I just had my head. I don't have time to see where it came through the wall – and whether any of its friends hit their intended targets – before the explosion. Cannons?

I throw myself against the closest wall and grab at the small flintlock gun that I always carry in my back pocket for emergencies like these. Dodging another bullet, I unlock my gun and fire straight where the last bullet came from. There's smoke and the smell of gunpowder and the sounds of more cannon balls fired off in our way. I roll away from another shot and try to locate my crew mates (wasn't Shanks _right beside me_—where is he now?), but it's as futile as trying to see the enemy. I need to relocate, preferably somewhere higher where I'll have a better aim and reach.

How did they sneak up on us like this? How did they get past the guys on watch? What do they want with us? Who are they? And what the hell do they think they're doing to our ship? Questions fire through my head as rapidly as the shots that leave the weapon in my hand. I can feel them hitting, weakening the unfamiliar presences that I can't see through the darkness that has descended upon the room. The enemy must have hit the lamps on purpose, to get another advantage on us.

In truth, I don't mind their timing all that much. Nothing like a good fight on top of a healthy party buzz, after all. It will be a pain to clean up the mess afterwards, but that's what we have rookies for. I hear Monstar screech somewhere to my left, and I bump into someone that I identify as Sergi judging by the grip he takes on my throat. He lets go as soon as I realize that it's him though, presumably feeling my own presence. I cough—his strength is nothing to joke about.

"I'll get you for that one later, asshole," I hiss, but I'm grateful for the extra second it brings me; enough to reload my gun with the spare bullets that I 'keep in the most ridiculous places' according to the others. What can I say, I'm useless without bullets—I need to have them everywhere. I narrowly avoid a blunt object thrown my way, a dirk going by the sound it makes as it hits the wall.

"It's the Wolger Pirates," Sergi grounds out, unfazed by my threat, kicking an attacker out of my way.

"_Now?_" I turn, standing back to back with Sergi as I shoot down another enemy. "Where's Shanks?"

"On deck; Benny's with him."

That explains why I haven't seen Beckman in a while, though I have no idea how the Wolger Pirates could have made it this close to the Red Force if he was out there. Sergi grabs my shoulder, using me as a substitute supporting stick as he brings down at least three of the enemy pirates with one swift movement. It was a good idea of Wolger to place his attack to a time when we'd be away from most of our weapons, but he's greatly underestimated our creativity as experienced warriors. While Sergi, for example, normally uses a long sword stabbed in the ground to keep in balance during his martial art performances, he's not above using other things to keep from toppling over. I very much wish that I had my musket though, or at least one of my larger pistols. Small guns are such kill-joys.

I part with Sergi and only get a few steps before walking into something soft and heavy on the floor; a human body, one that groans at my touch. I'm surprised to discover that it's Figarou—I figured he was way in the other direction, but apparently he's moved back. I sink down beside him.

"Yasopp-san," he says, almost in a whisper. I wonder how he can tell that it's me.

"You okay?" I ask him, firing off a few shots pretty much at random, wishing that there was light. I feel Figarou move slightly, and then his voice suddenly is close to me.

"Aim at 12 o'clock, a high frontal," he says. I raise my eyebrows but obediently shoot in that direction—it hits. "Next is down, a 6 o'clock," Figarou continues. I hit another enemy.

"How the fuck can you tell?" I have to ask in-between following the directions he rattles off at me, like he's reading them off a paper. Haki? No, in my experience, this is way too specific for that.

"I can see them. I have the Teru Teru Fruit—this is like daylight to me."

"_Seriously?_"

Now that's a Fruit I wouldn't mind having. It'd be so damn neat—I wonder if Figarou is a shooter himself. I should probably be bothered that he hasn't told us about it before, but then again, he hasn't really been talking to people. In any case, his ability is a hell of a lot useful to me right now, even if it seems that he hasn't been that lucky on his own. Or perhaps he just likes lying on the floor.

I continue shooting with Figarou as my eyes until I run out of bullets. By then, the fight has calmed down to a halt and the enemy seems to be in the process of withdrawing. That, or they're just running out of people capable of fighting. Someone manages to get a light on, and I survey the dining hall-turned-battle ground to measure our casualties. A few people seem to be injured, but no deaths as far as I can tell. I look down at my fighting partner, who is clutching his right arm.

"Thanks for the help," I say. "You did a good job." He looks at me startled, as if he'd forgotten that I'm here. Then he turns away with a shy smile, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Figures that the one time I hand out a compliment, the receiver is the type who can't take it properly.

I help him up to his feet as Shanks and Beckman return to the hall together with the remaining parts of our crew. It turns out that the Wolger Pirates were after the loot from our last journey—apparently they had underestimated our abilities greatly and figured that we'd be easy targets once we were tired and filled with food and drink. Not so much, no. They're a respectably large crew, good at what they do, but there aren't many crews that can make us become really serious. Seeing as we managed to obliterate half their crew without most of our weapons, they weren't one of them.

I meet Shanks' inquisitive look as he notices the close distance between me and our problem child of a new recruit. I give him a slight grin because Figarou's made progress, even if it's baby steps. Shanks looks so obviously relieved, like a stone has been lifted from his chest. He really _is_ worrying too much, my captain. But it's good that some good can be brought from this fight, to make up for the time we'll have to go without a proper hall for our festivities until this one has been mended.

"Let's help clean up this mess, shall we?" I ask Figarou, and he nods.

Baby steps it is.


	11. Joining Shanks

**One Piece belongs to Oda. And a gorgeous Yasopp action figure soon belongs to me...**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11: Joining Shanks<strong>

**(19 years ago, Syrup Village)**

"You're going."

"You can't decide that! I can't just leave—"

"You. Are. _Going._" Banchina's voice is firm and holds hints of steel. She's not backing down on this, no, because she's as stubborn as they come. Worse than me. And while I'm good at being stubborn in return – we have been having this argument for over a year now – it's difficult to keep denying her.

Her black hair is falling down on her shoulders, covering parts of her face as she's resting on her bed, but her dark eyes are as determined as ever. Even if her chronic illness is holding her body back, forcing her to take a rest every few hours, there's nothing wrong with her will.

"I'm not letting you talk yourself out of this again."

"But what about you?" I ask. "What about Usopp?" I can hear him in the other room, crawling around on the floor and playing with the little cones I brought in that Banchina turned into little bears.

"Usopp will be fine; I'll take care of him," she insists. "And I won't have you stay behind with me out of guilt. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't let you live to your fullest."

I knew that I shouldn't have told her about Shanks. It just… turned out that way. After he left, I spent weeks with my mind fully occupied by thoughts of a possible pirate life. Then I fell back into old patterns, taking the easiest way out, and so I somehow decided that it couldn't happen, that it had been impossible from the start. It became like a mantra to me, that I kept repeating to myself in times of doubt—because there were a lot of those. I should have known it wouldn't last.

I married Banchina, the woman who had captured my heart from the moment I saw her. She's the strongest person I've ever met, and she has a knack for doing everything I don't expect her to do. She keeps surprising me, even now, and that's one of the things I love the most about her. Being with her gave me a new perspective of things, and that tiny spark of hope in my chest stayed small.

Over the years, though, the thoughts of joining Shanks' crew turned into my favorite dream. Once I'd decided that it wouldn't become a reality, I allowed myself to think about it again. To the point that I could spend hours daydreaming about being a pirate when I was at my worst. It became my way of escaping the occasional dullness of reality, to go into that imaginary world for a while that was filled with thrills and adventures and parties. This fantasy world grew especially strong whenever I was shooting, where I could imagine standing on a battlefield rather than a shooting range.

In a moment of weakness, I once told Banchina of this dream and of Shanks' offer those years ago. In my ignorance, I thought she'd laugh at my silliness and tell me it was stupid. Instead, she asked me why in the world I didn't go. And since then, we've been having this argument with her trying to convince me that I should follow my dream and me trying to convince her that I can't.

Now, as we've heard rumors from other islands that pirates are in the area, she's become especially insistent. She's certain that it's Shanks coming to get me, but I don't believe that. I'm sure that he has forgotten all about me already—it's been three years, after all. It's not even a guarantee that he's alive anymore, but somehow that doesn't right to my ears. He's not the type to die.

Banchina takes my hand and holds it close. "This family life—it's not you, Yasopp. It's never been."

She's completely right, and we both know it. When Usopp was born less than a year ago, we were both elated, and motherhood suited her beautifully. Taking care of a toddler was far out of my comfort zone, but I lived with the belief that I'd grow into the role, that I'd get into it eventually.

It never happened though. I'm still as awkward as a family father as I've ever been. I still spend most of my time in the shooting range, dreaming myself away to unknown islands on faraway seas. My wife knows, but her being her, she's never given me a hard time for it. Never blamed me for wanting something different. Even know, she's urging me to leave her and become a pirate.

"So many people walk around with dreams they never dare to pursue," she continues. "Some of them want to, but they never could because they were born in the wrong body." At this, she gestures to her own disease-stricken body with her free hand. Then she traps me with her eyes again. "But you can, Yasopp. You can follow your dreams. So you should. I won't forgive you if you don't."

And I'm done. She's finally won this argument, like I knew she would one day.

"He'll hate me," I say, hesitant, because that is one of my worst fears. That my son will grow up to hate me for abandoning him, for denying him a normal life with his own father.

Banchina's gaze is unwavering on mine. "I won't let him. Now go."

I don't think I'll ever find anyone like her again for as long as I live. That's fine, because at least I got to have her for a short while. I squeeze her hand and stand up, looking around in our bedroom.

It's time to start packing.

-o-

An intense wave of nostalgia hits me as the man in the small boat with one oar once again paddles my way from the ship by the horizon. Against all my doubts, all my conviction, he's coming for me after all this time. He didn't forget; he didn't change his mind. Shanks is back, straw hat and all.

"Yasopp!" he calls as soon as he's within hearing distance, waving at me.

I stand silent, watching his face as he takes in my appearance with the bag over my shoulder and gun in its holster at my waist; how it brightens when he understands that I've finally made up my mind.

He brings his boat all the way to my cliff this time, close enough for me to climb in.

"You ready for adventure?" he asks, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Yes," I reply, then backtrack a little just in case: "If your offer is still on the table."

"Welcome to the Red Hair Pirates," he simply says, holding out his hand.

I take it.


	12. Fuusha Village, pt 2

**A/N: This is mainly based on the scene in the manga, with a few tidbits from the anime added into the mix.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: Fuusha Village, pt 2<strong>

**(10 years ago, Fuusha Village)**

"Empty?" Shanks' statement is unnecessary because we can all see that it is. The pub looks like it's been abandoned very suddenly what with its chairs on the floor and that waitress Makino's dish rag soaking wet on the bar counter. It's all the more puzzling because this isn't the first place that is empty—so was the harbor when we arrived. If Luffy wasn't there and isn't here, where is he?

"I have a bad feeling about this," I mutter, meeting Shanks' eyes. He nods.

"I'll go take a look." And he's off, probably going to search through every little street until he finds the little rascal. The rest of us follow on a less hurried pace; we'll know when he finds him, anyway.

When we catch up with him, he's with the Major and Makino from the pub, facing the bandits from a few days ago. I make a quick assessment of the situation—Luffy's on the ground, beneath the foot of that bandit leader show-off who is holding a sword over him in an attempt to look dangerous. He's mouthing off with Shanks, daring him to come closer or they'll kill us all. Pathetic.

But then one of the bandits has the nerve to point a gun at Shanks', and that's when I snap. Who the hell does he think he is? The idiot isn't even aiming at his head; he's aiming at his _nose_. I'm not one to take a bandit seriously, but guns are my thing, and I don't like it when amateurs try to take them on and use them like they're toys. It's a disgrace to the craft that I'm dedicating my life to.

I hear the click as Roo unlocks his pistol to my right. Good, that solves my problem.

The bandits laugh out their threats, but Shanks remains as unfazed as ever. "You're putting your life on the line by pointing that at me," he simply says to the bandit holding the gun.

Said bandit looks suitably confused. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I'm telling you _it's not safe to point guns_."

His statement ends with Roo shooting the bandit in the back of his head. It's a beautiful, clean shot, effortlessly fired off between tearing chunks of meat from his meat stick, and the bandit falls to the ground lifeless as stone. The bandits are shell-shocked, having not even had time to register Roo's arrival at the scene before it's all over. That's what you get with a Senkosoru user, amateurs.

We all walk up behind Roo and Shanks at regular human speed, staring the remaining bandits down.

"What have you done?" one of them wails. "That wasn't fair!"

I snort. "'Fair'?"

"Don't be naïve. You're not dealing with saints here, landlubbers," Beckman says, as polite as ever.

Shanks takes a step forward. "Listen. You can pour drinks on me, you can throw food at me—hell, you can even spit on me. I'll just laugh that stuff off. But nobody—_nobody_ hurts a friend of mine."

There's a gasp from Luffy, and the bandits look a bit taken aback, but their idiot leader laughs.

"You pirates spend your time floating around in your little ships, and you think you can stand up to mountain bandits? Don't make me laugh!" He turns to his underlings. "Kill them!"

"I'll handle this, Captain," Beckman says, picking up his rifle as the bandits run towards us.

I grin, preparing for a show. Poor things have no idea what's about to hit them.

Beckman takes one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the face of the closest bandit, who naturally falls over screaming. He then proceeds to use his rifle as a club, making a show out of swiftly clubbing down every single bandit without breaking a sweat. Then he turns it around, making the muzzle face the one remaining bandit as he lightens a new cigarette with his free hand.

"If you want to fight us, you better bring a warship," he finishes sweetly.

You know that 'disgrace the craft that I'm dedicating my life to' speech of mine? Beckman is an exception. That guy could pretty much use a pistol to pick his nose without me lifting an eyebrow at it—he's just that good. Our audience seems to agree on this, flabbergasted as they look.

"But… but… the brat started it!" the bandit leader says, now realizing that he's cornered.

"I don't care," Shanks says. "Didn't you say there was a price on your head?"

That's when things start to go wrong, because the bandit sets off a couple of smoke bombs. He's apparently not entirely without brains, that one. I cough, dabbing at my eyes to clear my sight.

When the smoke finally disappears, so has the bandit. And Luffy with him.

"LUFFY!" Shanks shouts, flailing about in an unexpected bout of panic. "Damn! I let him escape!" He runs back and forth with his hands tearing at his red hair. "We have to save Luffy!"

"Calm down, Captain! We'll find him!" Roo tries to soothe, but that only makes things worse.

Beckman just shakes his head at it all, and I'm not far from doing the same.

After all, how hard can it be to get _one_ kid back?

-o-

It feels like it was only yesterday we first came to this village, but now it's suddenly been a year and we're about to leave for good. We've spent all morning getting all our loot and food storage supplies on the ship, and now all that's left is a few boxes and to take farewell of a certain young boy.

"So you won't be coming back to this village after this voyage?" I hear Luffy ask.

I watch Shanks' back as he answers him, and then proceeds with his usual teasing. His black cloak is hanging down on his left side, as the place where his left arm used to be is now gaping empty.

We were all surprised – to say the least – when our captain returned with Luffy, drenched with seawater and only a bleeding stump in the place where his left arm should be. I couldn't make out much of what was happening out there in the sea other than that the bandit was eaten by a Sea Monster, which Shanks later scared off with his freaking fantastic Haoshoku Haki that I'm not at all jealous of.

Shanks wouldn't go into details either; he was more concerned about Luffy's well-being than something as trivial as to getting his arm torn off. He went into a sort of frenzy after hearing from Makino that Luffy got into that fight because the bandits had been insulting us, and none of us would have been able to stop him if we'd wanted to. He's very strict with his own morals, my captain.

It's hard to tell what he's thinking right now as we're leaving. I tune in just as Luffy gets worked up.

"One day I'll have a ship and a crew better than yours!" he shouts at Shanks. "And we'll have the biggest hoard of treasure in the world! I'm gonna be _the Pirate King_!"

I have to smile at that. He's a good kid, Luffy. And with such determination, he'll get far.

"You're going to be better than us, eh?" Shanks says, smiling too. "Well then…" He takes off his straw hat and puts it on Luffy's head. "Do me a favor and keep this hat for me."

I blink. He's giving him the straw hat? This is big. He's always been wearing that thing; I've practically never seen him without it ever since the years_ before_ I even joined this crew, no exaggeration.

"This hat means a lot to me," he continues, and I can see Luffy cry beneath the protection of the too-large hat. "Promise that you'll give it back to me some day… when you've become a great pirate."

And with those simple words, Shanks pretty much makes the boy's life.

Damn, he's good. I almost feel like crying now too.

He sees a lot of potential in the kid, like the rest of us. I wish I had had half that willpower when I was his age; maybe then it wouldn't have taken me so long to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. But Luffy has it already, that determination, and he'll make use of it—I can feel it.

As we take off from the harbor, waving goodbye to all the villagers that we have gotten to know during the past year, I hear Beckman say, "That kid's going to make something of himself."

I can't help but think the same.

* * *

><p><strong>And with that, this story is going on <span>hiatus<span> until further notice. I have a bunch of chapters that are halfway done, but I don't have inspiration or time to finish them right now. Sorry about that. I'm definitely planning to be back though, but I don't know when.**


	13. Afternoon Practice

**A/N: Thank you for not forgetting.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 13: Afternoon Practice<strong>

I'm just about to start my mid-afternoon nap when I hear Doug's voice.

"Oi, Yasopp!" he calls, and I blearily look up at him from my sitting position. He stops in front of me, his blue hair wet and way too close to dripping down on me for comfort. Someone's been swimming, and it's not me.

"I was this close to falling asleep," I complain. "I hope it's important or else I'll continue."

"It's about the rookies—"

"Good night."

Doug shakes his head like a soaked dog, getting quite a few drops on me.

"Hey!" I protest, wiping my face.

"You're such a douche, dude, seriously," he says, but he's grinning. "Really now. The kiddos are having shooting practice down by the beach, and they look like they're having some trouble. Why don't you lend them a hand?"

Without meaning to, my interest is peaked. "And why are you the one to tell me this?"

Doug shrugs, grinning at me again. That in itself is more telling than any answer he could provide me with orally. So he's noticed that I've been slacking lately, taking one too many naps in a day, and that this will give me something to do. The rookies could use some help, and I'm always up for anything related to shooting. It's a win-win situation, and he's just the one putting it in motion.

"Fine, then," I say, getting up on my feet with my musket in hand. "I guess I don't have anything better to do."

I can hear him snicker behind my back as I leave. Prick.

-o-

Doug wasn't kidding. The rookies _are_ in need of help—that much I can tell from only surveying them for less than a minute as I walk down towards them. They've gathered in a group of half a dozen, and they seem to have abandoned the shooting marks on the trees in favor of trying to hit the birds that are flying past up in the sky. A goal which, on their current level, obviously is way too high. Literally.

I walk up behind them, silent as a hunter spying before its prey. They don't notice. I can hear them mutter amongst themselves, the black-haired boy closes to me (Haru?) cursing as he misses.

I raise my musket and take aim, firing off a few tight shots and hitting three of the birds right where I estimate their hearts to be. The kids stare as the dead birds fall down beside them, looking wildly around to see where the shots came from. They almost jump as they discover me standing there, and I can see a few of them widen their eyes in shock with this realization.

As I've been through before, and as much as we wish it was different, we seniors don't normally spend much time with the rookies. Aside from the initial meetings – Shanks is very adamant about proper introductions and making sure to learn each other's names in our crew – we don't really talk to them at all. This is probably the first time I've even talked directly to these six since they first joined.

"Problem?" I ask, nonchalantly resting my rifle back against my shoulder again.

"Y-Yasopp-san," one of them stammers. "What is…?" he trails off, not finishing his question.

I shrug. "Anything I can help you with? I'm bored."

They're tentative at first, but gradually open up to me as they realize that I'm not about to bite their heads off or something equally inane (why would I _bite_ them when I have weapons at hand?). They admit that they're growing tired of their current training methods, asking me for ideas.

"Well, moving targets are always tougher than those that stand still, but what you often forget is that its height also is an important factor to take into account," I explain, pointedly looking up at the sky. "You might be able to handle a moving target, but add the height to that and you're a goner."

"So what should we do?"

"Work on the height, but make sure it's a still target. Try shooting the leaves off of a tree."

I can see the disbelief on their faces, probably wondering if I'm trying to make fun of them or some shit. It's not all that surprising, but I'm still not one to appreciate not being taken seriously.

The closest tree is about thirty feet away, a decently tall Birch tree, so I point to that.

"We have no wind to speak of today, so it's perfect," I say, and start to explain. "Decide on a leaf that you want to hit, and try to get it. Do it from here, or go closer if you need it. Start with the leaf; you can go over to hitting the stems once the rest becomes too easy." I illustrate this by firing off a shot at one of the leaves at the very top of the tree, hitting it square where the stem meets the leaf body. "Trees start looking pretty funny once only the leaf stems are left on its branches," I add.

My audience looks baffled. It's starting to get old.

"Do it. It will help you. Trust me—I've done a lot of target practice on leaves in my days."

They're hesitant, but they start it.

It's slow, but there's definitely progress. That kid Haru, with the black hair, is the first one to dare come up to me directly one-on-one , but once I've given him some pointers about stance and aim-taking, the other rookies finally ease up on the situation. The increased swearing and, after a while, shouts of victory, speak for themselves. Eventually another bunch of rookies joins in on our fun, and they have to start taking turns at the front line because it's starting to become too crowded. You can see their results on the tree already, too.

"Oi, Yasopp!" a voice suddenly shouts from behind me, and I turn to see Doug sit on top of a nearby cliff, grinning like the smug prick he most definitely is. "Looking good from here!"

I'm about to ignore him entirely when I see Shanks come up behind him, eyebrows raised as he assesses the situation. When he looks over at me, curiosity in his eyes, I just shrug. Apparently satisfied with that response, the captain raises his bottle of sake towards me in a mute toast.

Turns out I may have to give Doug some credit after all.


	14. Knots and Raids

**Chapter 14: Knots and Raids**

"You're doing it wrong."

"It's not me; it's these stupid ropes that don't want to do as I want!"

"Well, that's because you're doing it wrong."

Sergi looks up from the manrope knot he's trying to tie, frowning at Randy who's sitting right across from him on deck. "But I'm doing just what you told me to do."

Randy smirks, leaning over to help him. "Did I ever tell you that you suck at knot-tying?" he asks conversationally, correcting the last few steps before giving it back as a finished product.

Sergi stares at the perfectly tied knot with amazement. "How did you…?"

"You saw me do it, didn't you? Here, let me show you again…"

I observe this exchange with a barely concealed grin on my face. This is something that doesn't happen every day, and I don't want to miss a second of it. Sergi is the only person who Randy doesn't get impatient with, while Randy is the only person who can insult Sergi without receiving any name-calling in return. Seeing the two of them without their trademark traits is interesting.

They're always like this. Sergi and Randy—we call them the twins of our crew. They're not actually related—hell, they don't even have any physical resemblance as far as I can tell—but they still go by that name, at least among us senior members. They joined at the same time, four years before me, after having been inseparable since they were only a few years old. The kind of people who does everything together, always had, because neither of them ever had anyone else to turn to. While they do now, they still have that bond between them that is… well, different.

"Yasopp!" Sergi suddenly calls over at me. "Wipe that smirk off your face and tie some knots yourself, if you think you're that good."

Now that's more like the Sergi I know.

I obediently shuffle over to them, sitting down by the wall on Randy's side, figuring that to be the safest. I don't fancy myself to be any kind of rope expert, but I can at least tie a decent knot. I haven't done a manrope knot in a while though, as I usually tie knot for nets and for those I use the Turk's head ones. The two are easy to confuse, both having basket weave patterns, but the manrope knots are distinctly used for rope ends to make them look all pretty and shit. And since we're apparently going to be all pretty-pretty with the ropes for these hand-rails, manropes it is.

"You know how to do it?" Sergi asks disbelievingly as I grab a four-piece of rope and sit back.

"It's just a knot," I reply with a half-shrug, and then focus on the tying. I carefully wall the strands, pulling them through nicely, and then crown them. After that, I slowly double each one of them and push down through the end just like I've been taught to do. A final pull to the dressing and it's done.

"Good enough?" I ask, offering the finished knot to Randy.

He accepts it, turning it over with nimble fingers before nodding his approval. I look over at Sergi, silently raising my eyebrows. Judging from the number of curses I get in return, he doesn't appreciate being the only one who can't tie the knots among the three of us.

"Ran, help me," he groans dejectedly, but not before glaring a bit in my direction.

I just smirk.

* * *

><p>We're having a good time tying knots and still poking fun at Sergi's failed attempts when the whistle goes off. I'm on my feet before the whistle stops, sliding out the flintlock gun from my back pocket. Randy and Sergi are instantly flanking me, and even the rookies in our vicinity are quick to gather their wits. This is <em>the<em> whistle; the one we only use when there is an actual threat and we might actually get some action that is worth our time.

Normally, when a ship – marine or pirate – is spotted, the guys on watch don't even bother to alert the rest of us. Most pirates or marines have enough respect for our captain that they don't dare to approach us, and even on the off-chance that they would, they'd be shut down before they would have time to try anything. Thus, the whistle is reserved for our sworn enemy crews and the save few high-rank marines that haven't fallen for Shanks' charms.

I love that whistle.

Instantly, I can feel the blood rush through my veins as my pulse increases, my heart doing a nice little work-out in my chest. My response to the sound of the whistle is almost Pavlovan, and the same can be said for most of our crew. Beckman has conditioned us well.

"Who is it? Who is it?" Sergi inquires, giddy like a little kid at the prospect of a real fight.

"The Cherry Pirates!"

My excitement grows at that—not for the fight anymore, but for a different reason. While the Cherry Pirates is a crew of respectable size that has been after us for a while, they've been at it for what has to be the most moronic reason to date. Apparently their captain has a kid brother who had a run-in with Shanks at some island, and holds a grudge towards him for it. What happened was a case of Little-Brother-goes-crying-to-Older-Brother-with-Large-Pirate-Crew, which resulted in a dispute between our crews for no actual reason. All of this would usually bore me to tears, if it weren't for the fact that I happen to know that their captain has a thing for collecting weaponry.

As our enemies' ship come up along ours, I exchange a look with Randy, who nods. In the midst of the ensuing battle, the two of us slip over the other ship, taking one side each as we go through the corridor of doors to locate our favorite room. I remember it to be at the far end of the ship and, after making quick work of the lock, we enter the space that is a disappointment on many ships, but sometimes, such as in this specific case, more of a gold mine. The smell of gunpowder is strong in the air, and I shiver pleasantly at the sight of the shiny weapons covering the shelves.

Ahh. Nothing like someone else's weapon collection in an all-you-can-carry buffet.

Randy and I have done this so many times now that we have our routine down to a T. We're always in agreement about what to take and what to leave, so the only sounds we make are the occasional _oohs_ and other mutterings. This collection has been readily restored since our last raid, it seems. Usually, it's a waste of time to rob the weapon room when the enemy attacked first, since they've had time to pick up their good weapons first, but that's not the case here. This one is owned by a collector—there's no way all of the precious weaponry would be handed out to the crew.

In the corner of my eye, I notice that Randy has frozen in his spot.

Silence. Then: "There's a Meitou here."

Damn. "… You serious?"

My question is met with more silence, which I take as confirmation. I grin—this must be our lucky day. I listen absently as he rattles off the name and properties of the Meitou, knowing that I'll hear it all again multiple times in the coming weeks. Something like this is bound to keep Randy occupied for quite some time. I scour the wall in front of me, looking for anything worth a second glance.

It's at that moment that I see it, on a small shelf that holds spare bullets and a fair amount of dust bunnies. I can't keep myself from grinning as I grab my prize and conceal it beneath the couple of muskets that I've decided to oh-so-kindly to adopt. In lack of anything spectacular on the firearm front, this will do nicely to make up my efforts of going in here.

A short while later Randy and I sneak back onto the Force without many complications on the way. It's obvious that the fight is winding down, and I can hear my captain's laugh from somewhere not too far away, which tells me that we're about to part with the Cherry Pirates on friendly terms once again. We always do—until the next time when they search us out because Little Brother is fuming over something once more. Sometimes I'm _really_ grateful that Shanks is an only child.

As we get back on the ship, we meet Sergi, who takes one look at us and groans. "_Again?_ You two are hopeless."

I smirk, and I know without looking that Randy is mirroring my expression. I leave the deck to put away my new possessions and then go into the sleeping quarters to part with my prize of the day. The thought of it keeps me almost cheerful for the rest of the day, to the point where Beckman tells me to stop with the smirking because it's brought one of the rookies to tears.

It's only later that night, when we're about to go to sleep, that I get to reap the fruits of my efforts by getting a heavy book thrown at my face.

"YASOPP, YOU BASTARD!" Sergi yells, picking up the book as if he's about to throw it at me again. I glance at the battered book, titled something equivalent to "Knot-tying for dummies", along with Sergi's reddened face, and I can't hold it in anymore. I laugh so hard that I'm crying and clutching at my stomach, nearly falling out of bed, while Sergi keeps trying to clout me with the book.

_So_ worth it.


End file.
